Post by peppi on Apr 22, 2009 16:54:09 GMT -5
i've got the gift of one-liners;;
He could hear the techno music blaring a few blocks down, even over the engine of his motorcycle. Head, adorning a red helmet, bent forward to break the intense wind, Peppi raced against his heartbeat to make it to the club. He had been suffering from forced solitude from his sisters for too long. He needed people, bodies, energy, surrounding him. He twisted the thrust and accelerated his bike, pulling into a nearby alleyway about a block from the club.
Placing his bike deep in the shadows and his helmet on the seat, Peppi made his way towards Syndicate. His black biker boots, which were rather uncharacteristic of him in all actuality, clicked lightly against the pavement. The sound echoed in the darkness, only to be drowned out by the increasing volume of the music as he approached the club. His mouth contorted into a wide grin, showing off his overly white teeth. How lovely buildings such as this, filled with people, were. He already felt stronger as he began to feed off the nearest energy source, the last person in the line to get into the club. Walking up behind the girl, probably about twenty, his smile faded slightly. She was wearing far too much make-up. Ew, he thought.
The line moved slowly, about a person every three or four minutes. Although this could be considered a relatively quick pace to some, Peppi was an impatient being. He was in love with instant gratification and was only satisfied when he was standing in front of the bouncer, who might I add, was rather attractive. Peppi smiled at him flirtatiously. "So, when do you come into the club?" He asked, batting his eyelashes quite too flamboyantly. The bouncer simply rolled his eyes and let Peppi into the club. However, he could have sworn he heard him mutter, "As soon as you leave, faggot." Faggot. What a dirty word. It should be outlawed.
Peppi turned to scowl at the man, but he was already being pulled into the club by a sea of bouncing bodies, all seemingly moving in slow motion as the strobe lights flashed. Perhaps on reflex, Peppi began dance-hopping with the crowd, falling into immediate sync with them. This club seemed to radiate a natural rhythm throughout the entirity of the crowd, forcing everyone to move as one.
and you've got the curse of curves;;
- Song Credit: 'The Curse of Curves', Cute is What We Aim For
- Word Count: three-nine-zero (390)
- Notes: Parteh!...?
